Why didst thou play amid the ashen sky,
And beckon thy raging fired anguish cease,
Swirling amid as orange and blue deny,
Thy cloak calming forsaken folly’s peace?
As omens foretell of storm dying mist,
That blankets not salvation hearts aflame,
For life lived among cloudy-minded fist,
Binds not these wounds nor heals not this man’s blame.
Thy shame tis mine own grieving heart’s offence,
The unbearable loss embracing pain;
Stillness echoes upon a wasteland hence,
And sorrow’s melody hath no refrain.
That ne’er before hath life been split in twain,
For love truly mine t’will e’er be in vain.